


The Room Where it Happened

by Midnigtartist



Series: Tragedy Comes in Threes [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Is A Slut, Bottom Thomas, But not how you think, JUST, M/M, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, Riding, Shameless Smut, Smut, a room where it happens fic, sex for political favours, some under negotiated kinks, the feels are real guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 18:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9084997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnigtartist/pseuds/Midnigtartist
Summary: When you've got skin in the game, you stay in the game.  And Thomas has offered Hamilton more then his far share of flesh. It's hard to keep ones morals in check behind closed doors anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exadorlion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exadorlion/gifts).



> Yes, this fic does have a second part! And yes, there will be a third. I hope y'all enjoy this one, and hopefully there wont be such a long wait between the next chapter!!  
> Huge thanks, as always, to my beta readers- Exadorlion, Ham-for-Ham, and Clebimebi on tumblr <333

_My Dearest and Most Esteemed Mister Jefferson,_

 

_I write this to you by the last inches of the waning candle at my  desk, for I had to write this down before went to bed. I found myself unable to sleep and for once, it wasn’t caused by a need to composes essays, but rather a  darker desire.  One of rooms that smell of earth and the greatest pleasure god gave to man. Of the untouched soil of your plantation, rich virgin ground yet still unhandled, and while I don’t fancy myself much of a farmer, I think  of myself planting my seed in your warm earth._

_The memories of our past encounters haunt me. Stalk me like phantoms in the night with hot breath on my neck and chills on my skin. Nothing satiates them but my return to the bed we have both made for it seems I am destined to lie in it with you now.  But alas! In these dark moments of the early morning I feel myself burn. I am too far to reach you and yet my blood boils when I think of the purple crests I’ve laid on your shoulders. What more can I do but grasp the beast  and strangle it into submission once more, with nothing on me aside from you name on my tongue. I think of how you bloom in my presence, opening up with the ease of a new blossom in spring. My thoughts of you are louder then the silence of my home. Oh my dear Thomas, I pray you come to me in these moments! My hymn is chous of your name.  It is your softness I crave when the bed sheets tangle at my feet. My own hand , so adpt at other things, is too rough and calloused to mimic the sensation of your-_

 

Thomas folds the letter quickly, unable to bring himself to read the next four paragraphs that Alexander has written. As though he felt the need to include every last detail of their romantic encounters in them. He presses the letter tightly to his chest, face flushed. He wants to keep reading it, he wants to savour the images of Hamilton before writing this. Bare and moaning, with sweat on his skin and a hand around himself, thinking him. Jefferson groans deep in his chest letting the paper fall from his fingers as he buries his burning face in his hands.

Even after a month and a half of them sleeping together Thomas is still as desperate as the first time. In fact, his craving has only seemed to grow. It’s fueled by his frustration. Their encounters don’t stop them from bickering at work, they still can’t agree on a single policy. But now when Hamilton threaten to choke him out, Thomas experiences a different kind of heat. He hates him, or at least, he thinks that he does. He knows that he should. But he keeps coming back. Because Alexander is the only person who can give him all the things he needs, something warm inside him and a bedmate to brave the quiet nights with. When he’s with Alexander he know that he’s not alone. His touch, whether it's the roll of his hips, or his fingers tracing senseless patterns across his chest, is a comfort that Jefferson craves. He needs to know he’s connected, needs to feel the heat of another body at his side. He’s desperate for the companionship and Hamilton is the only person he can go to. The letter only makes his heart ache with sickening longing.

Thomas really wants to read that letter, then maybe find Hamilton afterwards, but he can’t now. Because he’s still in his office, at work, and the cabinet will be meeting any moment now.

With a sigh, he traces his fingertips over the letter, feeling the dips where the pressure of Hamilton’s pen grooved the paper.

There’s a knock at the door, firm but polite, and Jefferson’s fingers freeze.

“Thomas are you still in there?”James calls gently through the door.

Quickly Jefferson snatches up the letter. He pulls a small silver key from the inside pocket of his coat, and uses it to unlock the bottom drawer of his desk. It's already full of Hamilton’s letters, filthy essays that illustrate the other man’s insatiable need. Some have times and places written on the them, those moments when Alexander beckoned him to his bed. Every time they part, Jefferson tells himself it's the last time, but then Hamilton will send him another letter, and like a fool Thomas comes running back to him, falling helplessly into his waiting arms.

He shoves this new addition in with the rest of his ever growing collection, wondering briefly if Hamilton sends these risque letters to his office on purpose, before locking up the drawer once more.

His heart racing in his chest as he sits back up, smoothing a hand over his waistcoat. “Come in Jemmy”

The door pushes open with a creak and James steps inside, looking as sickly pale and and disgruntled as ever. He eyes Thomas up and down. “The cabinet is about to convene. What have you been doing?”

“Nothing” Jefferson mutters. He stands. “Nothing important, let's go.”

Madison fixes him with a mothering look, then rolls his eyes. “Fine, come on then or we’ll be late. And if that happens Hamilton will talk the cabinet’s ear off. “ he turns to go.

“Right” Jefferson mutters, following right behind his dear friend.

As they stride down the hall, pace brisk. Jemmy talks over their plan of action. How Alexander is proposing another draft of his debt plan and how they can’t allow it to pass. Thomas is only half listening, consumed by thoughts of Hamilton, the anticipation of seeing his again. He’s disgusted by his longing, how he pines after the younger man like a maiden. Its ridiculous to think of him so softly. What they have, it- it's not like that. It's not soft and pure like fresh snow. There is no sweet courting between them. Jefferson shows up at hamilton's  doorsteps, lonely and burning half the time and Alexander takes him. They meet in cheap inns, because Thomas can’t handle when the place he used to bed his late wife reeks of them, and Hamilton kisses him roughly, grips him tightly, and buries himself between his thighs until he can’t think or breathe. What they have isn’t at the gentle bloom of new romance. But Thomas likes it when Alexander is soft with him. He revels in the moments where the little immigrant cleans him up afterwards, he delights in the kisses he lays along his shoulders before he falls asleep. He loves waking up with arms around him.

A rolling wave of shame washes over Jefferson. He’s in far to deep.

“Thomas are you even listening?” James calls, halting their brisk pace with a hand on Jefferson’s elbow.

Thomas blinks down at him, lost.

James sighs. “Thomas are you alright?”

“Yeahs of course, I’m fine, I just got a little distracted” he mutters

“It’s seems you’ve been distracted quite a bit this month.” Jemmy says thoughtfully. “Especially where Hamilton is concerned.”

He scoffs to cover up the dread rising like bile in his stomach. No one can know what he and Hamilton get up to in the secret hours of the night. “I’m simply awestruck by his stupidity sometimes.” He snaps “The way he writes and rewrites his plan as though that will get congress to change its mind. The little runt has no place in politics.”

He hates lying to his friend, but what more can he say. To the rest of the world, he and Alexander still hate each other and, he thinks with a jolt, it may be true that they do.

His answers seems to appease James however because the shorter man chuckles and starts walking again.

“He should have stuck with his law path, a slimy lawyer is all he’s good for.” he quips.

Thomas barks out a laugh too, striding after James. “He’s certainly morally skewed enough.”

He pushes open the door from James, entering the loud, muggy room right behind him. The place reeks of sweaty bodies and to much expensive aftershave.

“Can someone open up a goddamn window!” he barks, taking his seat beside James along the far wall.

“Only if you’ll be the one to chase out the fly, good man.” Someone else shouts back, the comment followed by a chorus of laughter.

Thomas huffs, brushing some curls back out of his face. He can already feel beads of sweat starting to dew along his back in this stifling heat.

“Mister Jefferson, so nice of you to join us.” Washington says curtly, standing at the front of the room.

Jefferson flashes him a charming smirk. “You know me, Mister President, I do enjoy being fashionably late.”

“So late he missed the whole damn war.” A voice jeers. More laughter from the crowd.

Honestly. Are they lawmakers or a bunch of college hooligans?

“That’s quite enough” Washington warns and a hush falls over the room. “I’d like to begin this meeting now, if that’s alright with the lot of you. Today’s topic is on national spending, we will be discussing secretary Hamilton’s plan for collective national debt. Mister Hamilton-”

A collective groan escapes the men, everyone well sick and tired of talking circles around this issue. Alexander pays their lack of excitement no mind as he steps into the middle of the room, hands clasped firmly behind his back. Just the sight of him is enough to make Jefferson’s heart beat a little faster, mind wander back briefly to the filthy letter sitting in his desk. It’d be so easy to just let his mind wander, to conjure up images of Alexander naked and needy, but this issue is to important for him to just tune out of. So instead Jefferson, leaned back in his seat, fixing his gaze determinedly on Hamilton. The immigrant spares him a sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye, before launching into his proposal.

“Gentlemen, today I stand before you to discuss the most heinous threat to our young nation since the royal guard itself.” he begins

Thomas hears Jemmy scoff beside him. “Ridiculous,” he breathes. Thomas pays him no mind.  
“The national deficit” Hamilton continues “That plagues our land, if not dealt with, will crush us under its weight before we’ve even learned to stand, much less make the leaps and bounds we must inevitably make in order to make this great American experiment a success. I know that have proposed this issue on the floor before-”

“Too many damn times, Alexander!” another heckler calls. Jefferson watches Hamilton’s hands curl into fists.

But instead of retaliating, he swallows down his rage and presses on. “But the matter grows more urgent by the day and I fear this congress’s inability to come to any sort of consensus with spell our doom. In order to remedy this dilemma, I propose as centralized, national banking system. An institution that handles the finances of the nation as a whole, balances spending, distributes money, and standardizes national taxation. This system, however daunting you may find it, is our best bet to save us from financial ruin in the tender days of our country's youth. If we are to build a great nation, we must firstly lay a firm foundation. I am aware that my plan has been read and re read and re read to this congress, so I will not waste your time with another boring reading, but I urge you to consider the matter more thoughtfully. Our credit is the only way by which we’ll be able to integrate in with the older, stronger nations and establish a place for ourselves among them. Thank you.”

He steps back, taking his seat once again at Washington’s right. The president looks fondly at the younger man and Thomas can’t help but roll his eyes. Alexander has always been Washington’s favorite little chess piece on the board.

“Well spoken, Mister Hamilton.” the president says, keeping his voice cleverly impassive. He sweeps his dark eyes over the room. “Is there anyone who would like to say something in opposition to the secretary's plan?”

Thomas sighs dramatically, tossing James a sidelong smirk as he stands. “I have few things to say on the matter, mister president.”

His words are directed to Washington, but his gaze is trained on Alexander. He watches with delight and some slight rolling of his stomach as the little immigrant’s eyes go wide and fiery.

“Sit down Jefferson” Hamilton demands, voice steely. A warning.

But Jefferson shakes his head, smile never slipping from his face, “No”

This isn’t some dirty inn, this debate isn’t happening within the shadowed walls of Alexander’s bedroom, he doesn’t get to boss Thomas around, not here, not now.

“Very well Secretary,” Washington nods. “You have the floor”

“Thank you, sir” He responds, little bow and everything.

He can feel a bead of sweat rolling down the back of his neck as he steps into the center of the room. He cast his gaze over the sea of faces around him, well aware of Alexander’s burning glare on the back of his head.  
“Gentleman, I’m sure you all tire of hearing Hamilton’s plan told and retold to you.”

A flurry of agreement meets his comment.

He smirks as he continues. “And why wouldn’t you tire of hearing the same bullshit lies feed to you so often? The plan our dear secretary of treasure purpose benefits none but himself.”

“Not true!” Hamilton shouts, seemingly unable to control his temper anymore.

Thomas turns smoothly on his heel to face the short man. His face is all red, chest heaving with frustration already. Jefferson doesn’t let that alter the coy expression he’s plastered to his face.

“Oh really?” he continues sweetly. “Then tell me Hamilton, where does the South benefit from all this, because, from what I can gleen from you pathetically hobble together plan, you would like to take our wealth to pay for your war.”

“A national bank and strong credit will benefit everyone Thomas,” Alexander says cooly. “We are one unified country, what helps one should help everyone, and it will. All affairs are connected now, it’s not just individual states fighting for their own liberties, we cast that notion aside when our colonies banded together to oppose Britain, how do you not understand that?”  
Jefferson rolls his eyes. How dumb does Hamilton think he is? He already read over this little speech in his essay, he doesn’t need to hear an oral version as well.

“Well then, maybe we should look towards stronger state run governments.” he responds.

Hamilton looks utterly appalled by the idea. “We’re to fragile to even consider that at the moment! Strong state government would take power from the center of the nation. We’d basically have a handful of smaller countries within our borders, and Britain will swoop in a crush us with ease.”

Jefferson takes a step towards him, reveling in the fact that he’s a head taller, that Alexander has to crane his neck to glare him down.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you Hamilton?” he sneers. “So eager to hop  back into bed with the king. I haven’t forgotten your proposal to start up trade with Britain once more. Did we not fight a war to win our independence from our mother country? And yet you would have us go groveling back to them, little traitor you are.”

“Shut up Jefferson!” Hamilton bellows. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Jefferson smiles devilishly, pursing his lips. “Make me.” He breaths.

Alexander springs towards him violently, dark eyes ablaze, teeth bared, like he intends to take a bite out of Thomas’ neck. But Washington is faster. He catches the smaller man’s arm, holding him at bay.  
“That’s enough” he bellows. “I expected more from men as distinguished as yourselves, or at least better behavior than common thugs. This meeting is adjourned and the issue will be placed on hold until my secretaries have cooled down enough to act civil. You all may go.”

Alexander wrenches his arm from Washington’s grasp, but makes no move to attack Jefferson again. He just glowers at him, panting slightly. A few stray hairs have fallen out of place and now frame his flushed cheeks. Thomas tries to ignore it.

Instead of lingering, the taller man turns sharply on his heel and strides out of the hot, muggy room, doesn’t even bother to stop and bid James goodbye.  He started down the hall at a brisk stride, the ends of his coat flapping out behind him as he goes, the heels of his polished shoes clicking against the hardwood. He can hear another set of footsteps following not too far behind, far to angry and loud to be Madison’s. He knows who it is without having to glance over his shoulder. His stomach flips as he continues on to his office.

The footsteps follow his the whole way, keeping their measured distance right up until Jefferson steps past the threshold of the door. He hears it slam into its frame behind him and turns back to face his stalker.

Alexander’s tongue is in his mouth before he’s gotten full around. Hot breath on his lips and dextrous hands groping every inch of him that the little immigrant can reach. Thomas gasps, which  quickly melts into a choked moan as Hamilton pushes him back until his hip catches on the edge of his desk, thrusting his tongue in and out of his mouth with vigor. Thomas’  hands scrabble for purchase on his shoulders, gripping tight to the flashy green coat as he drags Alexander closer.

His letter stirred the low burning embers in the pit of his stomach and left Jefferson longing. Hamilton's hands find their way into his hair and he tugs, eliciting a whine from Thomas, who nips at his lower lip desperately.

They break for a moment, connected by a thin thread of spit.

“Now?” Jefferson half asks, half groans, while Alexander presses him into the desk with his hips.

Hamilton nods, sucks his lower lip into his mouth and bites, making his knees weak. Not a moment later the shorter man is ravaging his neck, mouthing over whatever he can reach over the cravat.

“I’m going to shut you up the best way I know how,” he mutters, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest. Then he’s stipping Thomas of his jacket.

The Virginian’s breath hitches. This is so very dangerous, to fuck in the middle of the day, with the whole of the american government only rooms away. He prays the door is locked, the Hamilton wasn’t stupid enough to leave it ajar. He prays that James doesn't come looking for him, hopes he saw the way Alexander had chased after him and assumed that an altercation was imminent. And technically it was, just not the way Jemmy would have considered.

His long coat hit the floor with a dusty thwump and then Alexander is reaching up to unknot the ruffles at his throat, pulling off Thomas’ cravat and tossing it over his shoulder. He shoves  Thomas back onto the desk, pushing so he’s flat against its polished surface with his legs dangling over edge. Jefferson watches Alexander strip off his coat with vigour, tossing it to the side before clambering up and straddling him.

With a whimper on his lips, Jefferson reaches up to unlace the immigrants breeches, slowly pulling them apart, but Hamilton leans over him before he can drag them down his legs. He grinds down on him, causing a hiss of pleasure to slip past Jefferson’s teeth as the heat of his bulge slides against his own. He can feel Alexander’s cock twitch even though two layers of fabric. The shorter man’s mouth descends to his neck, sucking hard at the sensitive spot below his jaw, laves his tongue over his pulses to lick the salt from his skin. Thomas groans, throwing his head back into a pile of papers he should be editing. The sharp edge of his letter opener digs into his hip, making him arch.

Alexander beings to rocks into him at a vicious pace, causing spikes of pleasure to race up Jefferson’s spine. His hands come up to grip bruise into the other man’s hips, while  Hamilton’s curious, filthy mouth ravages his sensitive neck, seeking out his well mapped weak points. When he finds the one that makes Thomas gasp, he sinks his teeth into his heated skin, pressing them in so hard Thomas wouldn’t be surprised if he came away with the taste of iron in his mouth. Jefferson stifles his cry behind his teeth, choking on the sounds of his pleasure.

He hopes Alexander will grow bored of the teasing soon, just hurry up and take him against the desk so he can quell the molten heat steadily pooling in his lower belly and get on with his day. Already he’s unbearably hard from just the dry thrust of Hamilton’s hips and his mouth at his throat, biting bruises into his skin that won’t be so easy to hide later. But Alexander shows no signs of stopping or reaching for the button on his trousers.

He nips another mark into Jefferson’s flesh, stroking his tongue over the spot to sooth the ache of his abused skin. Then Alexander pulls back a bit, enough to look Thomas in the eyes as he strokes his thumb over the groves his teeth left. The taller man shudders, staring back at Hamilton’s blown out eyes through his lashes. He pitches his hips up, seeking out better friction.

“Alexander” he moans, the syllables of his lovers name the only sounds his heavy tongue will make. Again he thrusts up, desperate to be free of his constrictive breeches.

But Alexander does not comply with him, he never does. Instead of trailing his hands down to the laces of his pants, the Secretary lays his other hand on the side of Thomas’ neck, and leans back down to steal another violent kiss. He slips his tongue past the seem of Jefferson’s lips with ease, Jefferson offers up no resistance, and starts to press his thumbs into his throat. Thomas gasps into his mouth, clutching at Alexander’s thighs more fiercely at the familiar feeling of his restricted breathing.

Hamilton pulls back ever so slightly. So that his lips graze over Jefferson’s as he speaks “You talk too damn much sometimes” he growls. His thumbs dig tighter into Thomas’ neck.

Jefferson shudders and gasps out a choked moan and Alexander grinds into him harder. Warmth tingles at the base of the virginian’s spine, he’s far too close already and it disgusts him. How Hamilton can get to him so easily. How all it takes is the rutting of their hips and a few breathless kisses and Thomas is gone.

‘Please Alexander” he begs, stars starting to dance at the edges of his vision.

Hamilton eases up on his throat, though the removal of his hands hardly makes it easier to breathe. Not when every bump of their jutting pelvis leaves him struggling for breath. He brings one hand down to cup Jefferson’s throbbing cock though his breeches, offering a teasing squeeze that make him  moan aloud.

He thrust up into the other man’s grasp. “Fuck- fuck, Alexander.” he whines, back arching off the polished wood of his desk.

The last of his control is slipping through his fingers fast, but even though his delirium of lust he tries to stave off the inevitable. They’re both still fully clothed, he’s not even felt Alexander’s skin on his own and yet he’s about ready to burst, sweating arousal through his many layers. What is Hamilton trying to achieve through this? Does he simply want to see how far he can push Thomas until he’s all but begging for him? Is he too lazy to take the time to undress him properly? Or is this some other, new facet that comes with these types of encounters? He’s learn a lot from his rendezvous with Alexander in private little inns. How to open himself up, the best ways to angle his hips so that each thrust makes him scream, one leg over the other man’s shoulder while he bites marks across his thighs. He learned he doesn't mind when Alexander wraps fingers around his throat, loves it when he pulls at his hair and makes his choke around his dick. The other week Alexander had propped him up on his trembling knees and pounded into him from behind while he gasped and throttled the bed sheets, sweat pouring from his brow. Everytime he thinks he’s finally gasped the scoop of ways he can find his release, Hamilton surprises him with something new and he melts all over again. Perhaps this is one of those times, because, in truth, Jefferson can feel the building waves of pleasure pulsing through his body, so close to drowning him with their bliss.

Alexander rubs his palm more fiercely against Jefferson’s throbbing cock, pressing in the heel of it. Thomas can’t stop his moans now, they fall unobstructed from his mouth. He lets his eyes fall shut as Alexander fondles him, chasing after the friction with lazy roll of his hips. Through the haze of his arousal, he notes Hamilton leaning over him, notes his other hand playing with his curls and his wet breath on his neck. The immigrant kisses the shell of his ear, grazing his teeth over it, making every nerve in his body spark.

“Come” he rasps.

The fingers in Jefferson’s hair tighten, Alexander taking a fistful of them and yanks hard.

Thomas yelps, then moans, toes curling up as his vision splashes white for a moment.

Waves of pleasure break over him. Rough and quick, but satisfying enough to cause a whimper to fall from his lips. There’s a familiar moment of numbness that settles over him, dulling his senses temporarily. But all too quickly he becomes aware of the damp fabric sticking to his thighs. Jefferson groans, neck flushing hot with embarrassment. He’s ruined his trousers, splashed them with his release, and he doesn’t think there's anyway to clean up that sort of stain. But he doesn’t dwell on that fact too long, because Alexander is still hard and rubbing himself along the inner crease of Jefferson’s thigh. It makes a moan fall unbidden from his lips, still so sensitive that every little movement makes his softening cock shudder.

He anticipates that the immigrant will stop soon, it isn’t unusual for Hamilton to give him more after he’s finished. He revels in the other man’s lingering touches, loves it when he pulls just a little more from him. One particularly hard thrust sends Jefferson’s head spinning, he feels himself spill a little extra over his trembling legs and sighs, resting his head back against the desktop. Now, he thinks with warm satisfaction pulsing through him, now Alexander will stop his merciless grinding and let him suck him off. But the immigrant neither stops nor clambers off his lap. There another vicious roll of his hips and this time Thomas gasps sharply, tired cock jumping with interest. He cracks open blearily eyes to peer at Alexander.

The smaller man continues to press him into the desk with his hips, apparently hell bent on finding his own release like this, with only the friction their rolling hips create. He bows over Jefferson, back arched, a vivid blush painted over his cheeks and sweat dewwing his hairline. Breathtakingly stunning as he grunts with every downward thrust. It’s too much for Thomas, the ebbing waves of pleasure that were carrying him suddenly start to swell. He feels himself growing hard again, to soon, he thinks, too quickly. Every little movement is like a shock through him now, making the muscles in his legs twitch and his spine curve up. It all feels like too much and before he can really process it, Alexander tugs on his hair once more and he’s coming with a punched out groan. Spilling himself too hard and too fast to get any real sense of fulfillment, adding to the mess in his trousers. And still Alexander is relentless. His pace is too much for Jefferson, whose body is to fatigued to come again, but tries desperately.

He hisses at the overstimulation. “Alexander -fuck” he crocks, mind starting to swim.

That's when Hamilton’s hips stall. Thomas watches him through cloudy eyes as the other man pulls himself from his unlaced breeches, taking his flushed cock in hand and jerking fiercely. It’s a sight the makes Thomas drool, watching Alexander finish in his own hand, squeezing around his shaft until he’s spilling. Belatedly, Thomas realizes that Alexander’s just came all over the front of his waistcoat, staining the lovely maroon velvet with white ropy strains.

The virginian groans, dropping his head back onto the desk with a thud and closes his eyes, trying to level out his breathing. Hamilton clambers off of him and the loss of the heat of his little body causes Jefferson to shiver. He waits for Alexander to make an attempt to clean him up, all their encounters usually end with him near doting on Thomas, carefully cleaning him off with a wet rag, before cuddling up against him for the night. But usually, they don’t fuck at work.

Jefferson hears the sound of shuffling fabric and turns his head so he can see Alexander. The shorter man has already laced his breeches back up and is donning  his jacket. Thomas watches incredulously as he makes his way towards the door, without even as much as a backwards glance at his prone form.

“Wait-” he calls out horsley, causing Hamilton to pause with his hand on the door knob. “Hang on. Are you really going to leave me like this? How am I supposed to get home?”

Alexander shrugs. “You seem to have all the answers, Mister Jefferson, I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

And with that curt response, he pulls open the door and steps out into the hall. The door falls shut behind him as he goes, leaving Jefferson spread over his desk, ears still ringing and his and Alexander’s spent drying cooling to his skin and clothes.  A pang of loneliness hits him, something that swirls unsettlingly in the bowels of his stomach at Hamilton’s cool dismissal. Already he miss the other man’s warmth, he had hoped he’d stay, or even press a lingering kiss to his temple as he so often does after their time together. He’s fooled himself into seeing Alexander’s sweetness and again he’s reminded that what they have was never meant to be kind. Hamilton is still arrogant and self serving, Thomas is still lonely and hurt. But  despite this knowledge why does he still need him so badly? Even now he wants the other man here with him, wants him to hold him gently, tenderly, regardless of how foul he is. His longing only grows when they’re apart.

Thomas groans, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the world. He hates him, every fiber of Jefferson’s being wants to believe that that’s the truth. That he still finds Hamilton so utterly loathsome, that breathing the same air as him burns his lungs, and in some places, that’s the truth, But the air in Alexander’s bedroom is too damp to hold a flame, when they’re nothing but a mess of tangled limbs and twisted sheets. When Hamilton kisses down his chest and whispers ‘Doudou’ against his skin like a charm after they’ve pulled the covers over their sweaty bodys Thomas is devoted to him, lives only for his affirmation. Whatever pull Alexander has, Jefferson finds himself caught in it with no escape.

With a heavy sigh, Thomas removes the arm from his face and gingerly sits. His pants are unbearably sticky and uncomfortable, but he has no choice but to sprint home in them. Carefully he unbuttons his ruined vest, stuffs it in his bag and slides on his long coat, which he buttons all the way up. Hopefully he won’t look to suspicious like this and he can make a clean espace. There’s really nothing that can be done to hide the hot bruises welling up along his neck. He simply prays no one's gaze lingers or that anyone tries to stop him for conversation as he slips hurriedly from his office.

 

That was the last encounter he’d had with Hamilton in two weeks. Two weeks Jefferson had gone without the man’s clever hands on his body. The first three day, he waited for letters, for the usually time and place sort of message, or another lude sonnet describing the curve of his spine, but one never came. Jefferson grew curious. Then he grew impatient. A week and a half into this drought, Thomas had shown up on Hamilton’s doorstep, ready to get some answers and maybe a bit more. But Hamilton had show no interest, didn’t kiss him or brush his knuckles over his cheeks and lead him inside. He’d explained to the virginian in a clipped tone that he was far too busy with his plan to spare the time, eyes cool and clearly judgemental. As if to say “this is your fault” and perhaps it was. Jefferson and James are relentless in their opposition of his proposal, but it’s not like he could do anything about that. The plan is baseless and far to reminiscent of the old, oppressive system they’ve just broken from. Alexander’s sweet words may melt him in the bedroom but that doesn’t mean Jefferson’s just going to stand down and let the little immigrant wreak havoc on their budding nation like it’s his own economic experiment.

So they haven’t seen each other outside of work since, and Thomas is at his wits end.

He’s tried to cope, find satisfaction by himself but it’s never enough. He just ends up laying there, more desperate then when he started. At the start of the second week, he was so strung out and touch starved that he went down to a brothel. Navigated the foul stench and noisy crowd and got himself a girl for the night. And yet it was nothing compared to what Alexander could do to him. It not like women don’t excite him anymore, it's more that Hamilton has ruined every other person. No one will ever be as good, no one will ever ravish him like Alexander does. When they clash, Thomas know he can let Hamilton do the work and still reap the benefits of their pleasure. With these girls he has to be the one to take charge,  but even in the throws of his passion Jefferson thinks back to the little secretary, how he would take him so tenderly. It’s a problem, and a dangerous one at that. One night he’d told his companion to ride him until he was content, and thought of Alexander the whole time. There was a terrifying moment as he came where he nearly cried out the other man’s name, only bearly drowning it in the back of his throat, letting out a strangled ‘AAAAA” instead. He’s not gone back to the brothel after that close call. So, yes, Thomas may have been a little- on edge these past few days as a result.

Currently the virginian is dabbing the end of his quill against his inkpot, blank piece of paper before him on the the desk. Carefully he scrolls, _My Dearest Mister Hamilton,_ across the top, then pauses again. How to say all he wants to without expressing how truly doomed he is. It’s moments like this where he wishes he had Alexander affinity for flowery language, but alas how does one translate pure need into verses of poetry. A deep sigh escapes him.

“There you are Thomas”

Jefferson jumps, causing a huge drop of ink to fall on his paper, bleeding through the parchment and blotting out the last five letters of _Hamilton_. He glances up to see James sliding into the chair beside him wearily.

He eyes the would be letter curiously. “Who are you writing to?”

Jefferson folds up the ruined paper and shoves it into the inside pocket of his coat, beside the little silver key. “It’s not important.” he says quickly. James doesn’t quite look convinced, but he doesn’t press, so Thomas continues to talk. “What is it you need Jemmy? More word on those federalist fools?”

James shakes his head. “That’s only part of the problem I fear” he mutters over the babbling crowd. “We’ve still yet to reach an agreement on the placement of the nation’s capital. I swear, nothing in this damn congress ever gets done because the petty fools would rather table a motion then address it.”

It true, the new united states congress has never been a very decisive  body of government. They’d struggled to even consider the idea of revolution for weeks, talking in circles upon circles because no one could come to an agreement. Thomas can’t even imagine what a mess it's become now that its members have more trivial decisions to make. He never envies James’ position.

The taller man leans his cheek into his palm. “And I assume you have no intention of wavering in your position?”

“Of course not” James snaps back, though the edge in his voice is softened by his weariness. “Besides, you'd never get the whole of the south to agree to give the capital to New York, they want their compensation for the war.”

“Maybe not if I proposed it, but if you were to yield, other’s would surely follow. They like you Jemmy.” Thomas adds

“I haven’t the faintest idea why” James sighs. “It’s exhausting. Not to mention that Hamilton dogs me day and night about his little financial plan. Nothing disuades him, he’s so stubbone for a whore’sson.”

Jefferson bobs his head in agreement. “I’ll revel in the day he’s removed from his position, Washington to can’t protect him forever. But still, what will you do about congress?”

James rubs a hand vigorously over his face. He looks even more sickly and run down since the last time Thomas saw him. His heart pangs with concern for his dear friend.

“Turely Thomas, I’m at my wits end. Perhaps it’s time to start considering some sort of compromise.” he mutters.

Through the din and mass of shifting waistcoats Thomas spots Alexander out of the corner of his eyes. His heart flips nervously in his chest, but if the other man notices a shift in his demeanor, he makes no move to expresses. The immigrant strides purposefully up to the table where they sit, eyes hard and impassive.

“Gentlemen” he says. It’s a stiff, curt sound.

Madison glares up at him. “Hamilton” he greets, not a trace of levity in his voice.

Thomas, meanwhile, taps his fingers against the desktop anxiously. Alexander catches the movement a smirks quickly down at him, before rearranging his face into a mask of indifference. He reaches into his coat and produces a simply folded letter, which he drops onto the desk before Jefferson.

The taller man’s hand  jumps out to grab it, least James try to pick in up first, and clutches the parchment tightly in his fist. Hamilton gives another bob of his head, not nearly enough movement in the gesture to consider it a nod, and turns to disappear back into the crowd.

The letter in his grasp scorches through his palm, waxing holes into his hand. Jefferson quickly pulls it to his chest, baffled by the turn of events. What the hell in the little bastard thinking, delivering one of his filthy poems on the congress floor. Does he want them to get caught? That’s the only logical solution Jefferson can come to, because as much as he detest the other man and his ideas, he knows Alexander isn’t so stupid that he would do this unknowingly. He rubs his thumb over the letter, then pauses. The indentations of Alexander's looping words are more sparse on this message, like he's finally found some sort of restraint. But Thomas knows better that, the flow of Hamilton’s pen can’t be stopped. In fact, he probably knows it better than anyone, besides the secretary's own wife. When the shifting of the bed in the middle of the night would wake him, and he would crack open sleep bleary eyes and  reach across the empty sheets. Only to find Alexander hunched over his desk, the viscous scratching of his pen like an annoying itch at the base of Thomas’ spine. No, surely if there are less words on this page then average, there’s a reason Alexander had been so succinct.

James eyes follow Alexander as he retreats, gaze boring trenches into the back of the smaller man’s head. So Thomas takes the opportunity to carefully unfold the letter. The penmanship is sloppy and hurried, ink smudged across the parchment, as it Hamilton had scrawled it out in a rush.

 

_My Dearest, Mister Thomas Jefferson,_

_Everyday I feel the walls of inevitability creep closer still, threaten to choke the life from my lungs. These past weeks have been nothing more then a whirlwind, sweeping me from one disaster to the next in an all consuming wind. You and I both know that this financial system is the only hope of salvation for our hard one country, yet the rest of Congress fights me with more ferocity than I have ever seen these men put into another motion.  I understand that my position in this cabinet is tedious at best. My fate hangs on but a handful of unachievable votes that I know you and Mister Madison could win for me. Therefore, I must concede to the idea  of compromise._

_You’ll be taking a leave to Monticello in the coming week, yes? Perhaps I could join you, and we could  find some sort of agreement on the privacy of your estate?_

_I would not ask this of you unless I was desperate, sir. And truly, I have no where else to turn._

_Ever your faithful,_

  1. _Ham_



 

Jefferson swallows thickly, folds back up the letter and slips it into his pocket. Nothing Alexander had said was remarkably lewd, so why does he feel a pang of excitement as he thinks back on the words? Marvelously crafted by the other man so as not to rouse suspicion in anyone with wandering eyes, but still suggestive enough to cause his heart to pound in his ears.

“What was it that Hamilton gave you?” James asks as he turns back to Thomas, who’s gripping the arm of his chair to level his breathing.

“I think I may have found you that compromise you were looking for, Jemmy”

 

Monticello is silent at this time of night. Jefferson arranged for it to be that way when Alexander arrives. He set the meeting late in the day, cleared everyone for the main house to keep the whole affair quite. He’d even arranged for a room to be made up for his guest, but that was more for appearances. After the debating he’s rather looking forward to making a mess of his own sheets. And if the house reeks of sex the next day it's not like anyone will say anything, so really, there’s no harm in it. And yet he paced the floor all morning with the flutter of nervousness in his gut, fingers fidgety and shoulders tense. This will be the first time he and Hamilton  have been alone together in nearly three weeks. Thomas is so  disgustingly eager to have the other man’s hands on him again, but that will have to wait until after the discussion. He has no intention of mixing work with his private pleasures, that would be downright amoral, to let Hamilton seduce him into agreement with the same ease with which he seduces him into bed. But the lines of his willfulness start to blur when the discourse occurs in private rooms away from prying eyes, he can only hope he has the strength of character to resist the other man’s charms. For the good of the country he’s going to have to.

He’s yet to to go out to visit his Martha’s grave in the days he's been here, however.  How could he when Hamilton is on his way, no doubt with the intention in the back of his mind to take Thomas on his marriage bed. What would he even say to her? How could he visit her headstone with any reverence when it had been so easy for him to move on? He’d only been an inconsolable widower for a handful of hours when Alexander had found him. And when he’d bed him Thomas hadn’t exactly been opposed to the notion, quite the opposite really, and that only makes him more despaired. He thinks of how broken she would be at the betrayal. Even now as he prowls the empty rooms, he swears he can feel her lingering gaze on his back, judging him for his sins.

He sighs heavily, running both hands through his curls as he leans against the wall of the sitting room. His Martha’s portrait hangs on the far wall, shadows cast by his candle dance across her face. He stares back, morning the fact that he’s been such a useless husband to her. That’s when he hears the knock at is front door, the heavy thuds echoing off the hardwood flooring and the cavernous ceiling in the entry way. His lovely wife scorns him silently from her perch on the wall, disgusted.

Jefferson quickly drops his gaze to the floor.He  wishes he could feel the shame the way he ought to. But there is no dread festering in his stomach, just anticipation.

“Don’t look at me like that.” he mutters

More bangs on the door, Hamilton is even more impatient. Thomas spares one more glance at the painting, then turns from the room, reminding himself to have it covered in the morning.

The well worn hinges on the door shriek as Jefferson pulls it open, revealing Hamilton in the archway, looking disheveled. Jefferson notes his appearance with some shock. Alexander, who even for his poor eating habits and deep purple bags that hang under his eyes like badges of honor still tends to look put together and cocky, appears more subdued this evening, more weirry. He doesn’t wait for Thomas to invite him in, just steps past the threshold, gaze lingering on the taller man. His lips quirky up a feeble smile.

“Thomas” he breathes, then swoops up to place a kiss to his cheek.

Jefferson wants to melt under its warmth, but all the talk of phantoms servers like a metal rod in his spine, rooting him rigidly to the spot.

The immigrant seems to notice this, and when he withdraws, its with a more stoic expression painted on this face.

“Just business tonight, then” he asks, taking a pace back. Finally Jefferson can breath.

He nods curtly. “For now. But the night has many hours to make use of, and I’m sure we’ll both tire of politics shortly.”

At this Alexander smirks. “Is that so?”

Thomas scoffs. “You do have a one track mind don’t you?”

“You we’re the one that brought it up.” the other man shrugs. “I assume the discussion won’t be taking place in the foyer, yes?”

“Up in my study.” he replies. “Follow me” with that he turns and sets off deeper into the house, Hamilton close behind.

He chuckles under his breath. “Lead the way then.”

So they trudge through the quiet halls of Monticello, two sets of footsteps that echo of the hardwood. Alexander walks beside him, hands hanging at his sides, and Jefferson desperately wants to take hold of one, grab it and give himself some grounding because he’s been filled with this nervous anticipation since Hamilton stepped through his front door.

Eventually the secretary sighs. “For god’s sake Jefferson, if you want to hold my hand just do it already. It would be about the most decent thing we’ve done together.”

Thomas blushes at his own transparency, but takes hold of the hand he’s be fantasizing about for nearly a month. It’s small and warm slotted against his own, smooth and strong. Hand in hand the virginian leads them up the stairs to his study. It reminds him of the first night. Kiss drunk and so dazed by ravenous lust that he could barely see straight as Alexander snuck him up to his room, carefully and passionately giving him what Thomas never knew he could need. Tonight doesn’t feel all to different from that. With his tentative hand guiding the other up to the landing, no doubt Hamilton hopes to get what he needs out of this encounter, and then maybe some more.

Because, and the thought hits Thomas with a jolt, he and Alexander don’t have much in the way of a relationship outside of sex. They work and they fight and they fuck, the cycle is exhausting but it's all they have.  It’s foolish of Thomas to hope for anything more though. There’s no way the two of them could manage a health life together, and of course not, that’s not something Thomas would want anyway. So he tells himself at least. And still, Alexander’s hand is warm in his, so he keeps walking.

His study doesn’t take long to reach, only a few doors down from the top of the stairs. He pushes the door open and allows Alexander inside.

The shorter man gives the room a once over, before stuffing a fist into his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“I thought you said we we’re going to your office.” he squawks. “Did you perphase forget which door?”

Thomas pushes past him with a huff, taking a seat in the chair  by his desk. What Hamilton’s referring to he’s sure, is the alcove in which is master bed is set  on the other side of the room, the thick satin bed sheets spilling across the floor.

“The rooms are combined.” Jefferson snaps. “This half is my office and the other is the bedroom. Now would you quit gaping and sit? Jesus, you act like you’ve never seen a bed before Hamilton.”

The other man chuckles. “Never one as strange as this. Christ, and you say I’m married to my work.”

Again Jefferson huffs. “Just sit, will you? We have much to discuss.”

“Fine” Alexander groans, the lingering traces of his smile waxing away some of the fatigue from his features. He plops himself down unceremoniously in another chair and scoots it closer to Thomas, until their knees bump together. He’s done it on purpose, he knows that was the sly little bastards plan, and he hates that it makes his ears warm to a pinkish glow. He hates that Alexander has this strong of an effect on him. He shakes the notion from his head, however. They're here to debate politics anyway, a sticky enough affair as it is.

“So” he says softly, setting the candles he used to light their way down on the desktop.  
Hamilton brushes some hair from his face. “So. I hear tell that Madison is having trouble getting congress to choose a location for the capital.”

“Astounding.” Thomas drawls in response. “And here I thought you were to busy licking Washington’s boots and reveling in the sound of your own voice to have any clue what’s going on with the rest of the cabinet.”

His words are harsh, like is tone. Jefferson realises he’s letting his own personally frustration seep into the dialogue. Bitter thoughts towards his feelings coalescing into sharp words that flow unprovoked from his tongue.

Hamilton cocks a brow at him, teasingly. “I’m sure you’d love to see just how much of a bootlicker I am, Thomas. Is it something you think about often?” then he smirks. “Would you want me to show you?”

Jefferson flushes along his neck. “We’re getting off topic. What is it about the discourse that interests you so much?”

Alexander sighs, sinking lower into his right backed chair. “Rumor has it that Madison is looking for some sort of compromise, a quick resolution to the debating. I have one.”

“Oh?” Thomas snaps. “And what might that be, Alexander”

“I can give him exactly what he wants; the capital in the south.”

Jefferson barks out a laugh.  
“That capital isn’t yours to trade away, you pretentious prick. You have no authority over the decision.”

“True” the little immigrant responds in a measured tone. “But I could swing him the votes needed to make it possible. You always underestimate my influence, dear Jefferson.”

Jefferson pauses, mulling over the statement. Of course Hamilton could swing the votes. For as little credit he likes to give the other man, Alexander is one of the most outspoken and influential members of his party, second only to Thomas’ once close friend Adams. It is conceivable that Hamilton could sway enough votes to get congress to move the capital to a southern state, which would be quite the prize.

He taps a finger careful to the side of his jaw. “ And want do you intend to get out of the deal?”

“My debt plan,” Hamilton shoots back. “In its entirety. And I want full, undisputed power to oversee its establishment.”

Thomas blanche, choking on his tongue. How the hell could Alexander say that with a straight face.

“The capital is hardly anything compared to what you’re asking for. James would never consider to it, and frankly neither will I. What else do you plan to offer in exchange”

Hamilton leans back in his seat, letting his legs fall open with ease. “Nothing, Madison gets his capital, and  moment of peace, and I get my banks.”

Jefferson scoffs. “Well if that’s all you have to offer, I’m afraid negotiations end here.” He makes to stand, needing to pace off his annoyance at the immigrant’s utter stupidity. Did he really think he could ask for so much and give so little in return? What a preposterous notion.

But before he can rise from his seat, Hamilton lays a hand on his knee, causing him to falter, then drop back down into his chair.

The other man’s eyes glitter in the low light. “Then prehaps I could offer something to sweeten the deal for you personally” he mutters.

His thumb starts to roll circles across his skin, causing Jefferson to shiver. Truly, it’s been too long since he’s been touched, and Alexander’s skilled fingers know where to press to make him unravel.

But Thomas jerks his knee back from Hamilton’s grasp, knocking his hand away.

“You’re a dirty politician, Hamilton” he says stiffly. The other man smirks, even as Jefferson glares at him. “You’re selfish and spineless. As if I’d take - sexual favors in exchange for political policies. No. Offer something better or this is where the discussion ends.”

Alexander searches his face for a moment, looking for signs that Thomas might break, but the virginian’s hard eyes don’t waver. Then Hamilton sighs and stands. Jefferson follows his movements, how he takes a few steps from his chair, and starts to slide his outer jacket from his shoulders. He would like to think it’s just because the room is warm that Alexander feels the need to remove a layer, but then he’s popping the buttons of his waist coat and tossing that to the floor as well, followed not long after by his cravat.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked tensely, embarrassed by the way he can’t help rove his eyes over the curves of Alexander’s bare back.

The little immigrants drops his shirt as he glances at Thomas over his shoulder. “If you won’t help me, I suppose I’ll just have to help myself,” he responds with a shrug. Then he’s pulling apart the laces of his breeches.

He kicks off his shoe and before Thomas gets the chance to spultter out a reply, Alexander is naked and flopping onto his mattress like the owns the damn place. The secretary crawls across the sheets to the other side of the bed, reaches around the corner into the other half of the room. When he pulls back, he’s flashing a little bottle of oil at Jefferson with a knowing grin on his face. Thomas flushes and glares down at his knees. It has just another thing he’d prepared before this evening.Things were supposed to go a lot differently.  His eyes snap back up, however, when he hears the pop of the bottle’s cork.

Hamilton has spread himself over the comforter, feet planted on the mattress and legs wide, giving Jefferson a wonderful, taunting view of everything below his navel. Quickly he slicks up his fingers with oil, and slips one inside himself. Thomas clutches at the arms of his chair as Alexander cants his hips up under his own ministrations, other hand come up to fist his hardening cock.

And it’s not fair, it’s just not fair to Thomas to have bear witness to this. To hear the little gasp and stifled moans Hamilton is making and not get to touch him. Can’t run his fingers though the other man’s wonderful hair, or feel the skin of his hips under his palms. He wants to so badly though, but, no, he’s above selling out his political views just to suck Hamilton off, surely. However, when the little immigrant lets out a shuddering moan and his knees fall a little further apart, he can feel his resolve starting to slip. Alexander sighs, slides another finger into himself and rocks back down onto it, a vivid blush beginning to rise along his chest.

“Thomas” he mutters breathly, purposefully straining his voice to get a reaction out of him. But even be conscious of this fact the sound still sends a rolling wave of heat though Jefferson’s body. He shifts uncomfortably in his his seat, following every jerk of Hamilton’s fist.

The small man groans deep in his chest. “Oh god Thomas, it’s been so long since we- ah!” he thrust his hips upward, which in turn cause Jefferson to lurch forward in his chair.

“Then let me help you.” he tries, ready to spring from his seat at the other man’s beckoning call.

But Hamilton shakes his head. From this angle, Thomas can see every thrust of his fingers as they curl about inside of him, and it makes him ache with need.

“You don’t want to help me,” Alexander says. “Not really” then he groans and throws his head back. “I need my banks Thomas.”

Thomas takes his lower lip between his teeth and bites down until he feels the skin start to split, anything to help him keep some sense of control. But Hamilton makes him so desperate, he can hardly think.

“I can’t do that.” he croaks out. “You know I can’t”

Hamilton squeezes around his cock. “Please, Thomas  please, please I need you.”

“Let me touch you then” he begs. But again Alexander shakes his head. His knees are starting to tremble under the pressure of his pleasure.

“Not until you promise me.”

“I can’t,” Jefferson stresses. It sounds like he’s begging, what with how strained his voice is.

Hamilton lets loose a loud, needy moan, back arching off the bed in a provocative display. “I need you, please. I need to feel you Thomas, I want your hands on me. It’s been so long, so long.”

Thomas hands curl up into fis against the arms of his chair, nails pressing little crescent moons into his palms. This, this whole situation is getting out of hand and he’s left clinging to a single thread of his morals. Swimming though a muddled haze of the sounds falling from Alexander’s lips and his slim hip bones.

“I’ll ride you” Hamilton then breaths, slowing the roll of his hips.

Thomas swallows. “I-”

He lets out a long sigh. “Please Thomas, do this for me. Do it and I’ll ride you so good, just like the last time. You remember how good that felt? I promise, promise, just help me with this.” he groans again. Jefferson doesn’t need to see Alexander’s face to know what he looks like. Handsome features contorted with pleasure, lovely brown hair plastered to the back of his neck, brilliant eyes dark and hooded. “Thoooomas” he moans wantonly.

And just like that, Jefferson snaps like the bowstrings of a tightly wound violin, fraying at his edges as the tension breaks under Hamilton’s influence.  
“I’ll talk to James.” He’s nearly falling out of his chair at this point. “I’ll talk to James. Try to arrange some sort of meeting for the two of you. Just- please let me touch you. Alexander, fuck please.”

At his words, the other man lifts his head, peering at Jefferson down the length of his sweaty frame. His face his flushed a tender pink, sweat dewing on his upper lips as he stalls his hands.

“You swear it?” he asked breathlessly.

Thomas nods vigorously. “Yes, of course. Please Alexander, I’ve missed you so much!”

Hamilton grins sweetly at him, slowly removing his hands from his person and pushing himself upright in the bed. His legs dangle over the edge of the mattress, still wide and unabashed as he reclines back on his elbows.

“Come get me wet then.” he murmurs

Jefferson is tripping over himself to reach Alexander, hitting his knees early in his desperation and have to crawl half the way to get between the other man’s legs. Hamilton laughs, carding a hand through his hair as Thomas starts laying sloppy kisses up and down the length of his flushed shaft. The virginian complies easily as Alexander pushes him down on his dick, greedily taking in as much as he can at once.

Alexander sighs and rocks his hips forward, picking up a steady pace as he fucks himself into Jefferson’s mouth. Then comes his other hand, forces Thomas down even further, so that the head of his cock just barely teases the back of his throat, like an itch. He gags once around him softly, before dropping his jaw even further to better take Hamilton in. The secretary's pace is rigorous, pressing deeper and deeper into his mouth with breathless moans and fingers wound tightly in his curls. It makes Jefferson work twice as hard as he grasps at the smaller man’s thighs, anything to draw those sweet noises from his lips. Hamilton then slings one of his legs over Thomas’ shoulder. His heel digs tightly into his lower back as he presses him closer. His other leg follows shortly after, and soon Hamilton has him taking him all the way down to the root, ass lifting off the bed with every upward thrust as he fucks Thomas’ face mercilessly. The head of his cock hits the back of Jefferson’s throat, causing him to splutter and gag, hardly able to breathe because his face is pressed too tightly to Hamilton’s pelvis. And yet he continues to surge forward, holding Alexander’s plush thighs tighter around his head. They’re soft and smooth and hot, and when Alexander moans and squeezes them against his ears, he can practically hear the blood pumping through them.

“Fuck fuck, Thomas-!” he calls, rolling his hips up, and forcing himself deeper still down Jefferson’s throat.

Then he wrenches Thomas back by the hair, dragging him off his weeping cock with groan.

Thomas whines, turning to nip marks across Hamilton’s inner thighs as they slip from his shoulders.

Alexander pulls him back further still, eliciting a breathless whimper from the virginian as they lock hazy eyes.

Carefully, he sweeps his thumb over the corner of Jefferson’s swollen lips. “Undress.” he mutters. “On your back on the bed.”

Thomas shuffles back, staggering to his feet as his hands work to disrobe himself quickly. He feels Hamilton’s appreciative gaze on him as he undoes his waistcoat and strips off his shirt. Quickly he toes off his shoes and stumbles out of his trousers. Then he throws himself back on the bed, wriggling and kicking out of his stockings with a grunt of effort. Beside him, Alexander chuckles softly and Thomas huffs, finally peeling the elastic fabric from his calves. Once the stockings are gone, Hamilton helps him out of his underthings, sliding his warm palms across Jefferson’s bare thighs once they’ve been discarded to the floor. Thomas shivers under his touch, so careful, yet still demanding, something only the little immigrant can achieve. He touches Thomas like he owns him, like he were priceless linen or some other fine fabric that he purchased. And while Hamilton never paid for him, not in silver or affection, Jefferson truly feels owned by those skilled fingers.

Alexander straddles his thighs, smiling softly at the virginian as he stretches up to kiss him. Thomas whimpers into it, god, he’s missed these kisses, the little affectionate displayed Hamilton gives him between sex. He’s miss the way the secretary's mouth seems to slot perfectly against his own. The way he moves his lips, the scrape of his beard across his chin. The way he licks into his mouth and moans when he tastes himself on Thomas tongue. He’s misses the gentle way Hamilton traces his fingertips along his jaw.

Far too quickly for his liking, Alexander draws back, reaching instead for the little bottle of oil to his right. Jefferson’s breath stutters in his chest. The smaller man slicks him up, then Hamilton sinks onto him, impaling himself on Jefferson’s cock.

They both groan in tandem, Thomas’ back arching from the bed. He lets his hands fall to Alexander’s waist as the man plants his palms firmly to his chest and starts to roll his hip. He pushes against Jefferson’s abs, lifting himself up onto trembling thighs, only to come crashing back down with the slap of damp skin on skin. And thus he finds his ever ruthless tempo, making Thomas press his head back into the sheets with a broken moan.

“I missed this” Alexander mumbles. His hands grope along Jefferson’s chest and he sighs breathlessly. “I missed these abs. And these hips.” his fingers dance up to trace the long lines of Jefferson’s exposed neck. “I missed your pretty little strung out expression.”

Thomas’ gasps, the pads of Hamilton’s fingers on his jaw send shivers down his spine.

Hamilton smirks. “Yeah, I missed having you on your back.”

He tires to respond, and million phrases loaded on the tip of his tongue, hundreds of little noises of pleasure drowning in the back of his throat. If only Alexander would kiss him again and shut the fuck up. Regardless, all that espaces him is a punched out grunt as he thrust his hips upwards into his tight ass.

Hamilton leans over him once more, slowing their paces so he can whisper in Jefferson ear. “What was that, Thomas?”

Thomas takes a shuddering breath. He’s not sure if he’s glaring, or staring helplessly at Alexander, but whatever expression has painted itself over his features makes Hamilton grin impishly at him, long inky hair falling like curtains around his face.

“Do you have something you want to tell me?” he murmurs, before drawing him in for a kiss.

Thomas’ chest heaves when then part.

“You’re a slut.” he pants against Alexander’s lips.

The other man blinks down at him, then shrugs with a smile. “Better a slut then a bitch.” and with that he rocks himself hard against Jefferson, making the taller man’s back arch wildly and hands grip more bruises into his skin.

Thomas watches as the little immigrant starts to bear down on him again, using his thighs to lift himself up, before slam back down, bouncing himself on Jefferson throbbing prick. While he does this, his hands wander over his body, touching here, caressing there, scraping across his own tanned skin with desperation. He throws his head back with an exaggerated moan, clearly putting on a show for Thomas.

“Aren't you so glad you agreed, Thomas?” he asks sweetly, before taking his unattended cock in hand. “I know how much you needed this. I see the way your eyes follow me in the cabinet . You probably wish you were every chair I sit on.” he gasps softly.

The taller man helps Hamilton ride him, keeps rocking him up and down. “Fuck off” he breathes

If his gaze lingers on Hamilton, it's with longer more so than lust. He wishes it were just lust, that would be less embarrassing than this desperate pinning he feel whenever they’re apart.

Alexander peers down at him. “What? Do you not keep all my letters locked up in a little drawer in your desk?”

“No” Thomas grits out. Alexander has picked up his pace, fisting his dick in time with his thrusts and heat in his stomach has grown near unbearable. “I burn them all”

At this Hamilton snorts, causing him to clench slightly around Thomas. “Yeah right.”  
After that, both men’s mouths become too preoccupied with loosing sinfully moans and shouting obscenities to continue the discussion. Thomas reaches up and wraps his hand around the one on Alexander’s cock, helping him on his way to climax. His spills over the interlocked fists and Thomas’ stomach before the tensions flees his body. Jefferson follows right after, moaning (more like pleading) Alexander’s name, before spilling inside of him.

Then both groan with satisfaction, taking a moment to recollect themselves before moving. Hamilton lifts off of Jefferson slowly, release running down his inner thigh as he collapses beside the taller man on the mattress. Instantly he’s curling against Thomas’ frame and the virginian instinctively drapes an arm over his shoulder, and presses a lingering kiss to the top of his head. He loves post coital Alexander, he’s much quieter, and much more affectionate.

The smaller man traces his fingers gentle over Thomas’ skin, cheek resting heavily on his chest.

“Thomas?” he asks softly. Jefferson turns his gaze downward, not to surprised to find Alexander peering up at him with cloudy doe eyes. “You know I don’t intend to sound so cruel, right? I get so swept up in the heat of our passion that rational thought escapes me.”

“I know.” Thomas replied, brushing fingers though Hamilton’s hair. Its matted in the back from when he was touching himself. “I’m as guilty as you when it comes to a slip of the tongue. You’re not a slut.”

He kinda is though, a little voice whispers at the back of his head. He shakes it away, focusing instead on how warm Alexander is in his arms.  
His bed mate borrows in closer, eyes fluttering shut. “You, however, are still a bitch.” he mutters.

Jefferson feels a stone drop into his stomach, but before he can splutter out a word of protest, Alexander is reaching to sweep his lips tenderly over his own.

“Thomas, mon Doudou.” he mumbles.

Thomas sweeps his fingers down Hamilton’s side, staring up at the ceiling.

“What does that mean.” he asks quietly. “It sounds like French, but no French I’ve ever heard.”

Alexander shrugs. “It's Creole french. There’s no real direct translation for it.” he yawns. “I guess that closest thing would be, like a child’s keepsake, you know, a blanket or a toy they find comfort in. Something soft to hold.” he drapes an arm over Jefferson’s chest, careful to avoid dragging it in the spent on his stomach.

They really should clean up, but Thomas has a feeling that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Not with Hamilton as dug in as he is. Besides, he wants to bask in this quiet moment a little longer, let his bedmate sweet words warm him from the inside out.

“What will I tell them?” he asks, the thought suddenly striking him.

Hamilton lifts up his gaze. “What do you mean?”

Thomas sighs heavily. “About what happened, how you changed my mind and got me to consider to this meeting. Other’s won’t believe I folded so easily.”

“Tell them whatever you want.” Alexander replies. “Tell them I came pleading. Make me sound helpless and desperate for all I care. My pride can take a few hits, now that I have my banks.”

Thomas has not even set up the meeting yet and still the other talks like he’s won. Arrogant little shit. And yet-

Alexander hums sleepily into his chest. “ I love you, Thomas”

Jefferson stops breathing, his insides writhing as the words bounce around his head and a flush touches his cheeks. Those words are the most unfair part of this night, the fact that Alexander can say them with such ease, while Jefferson chocks on them. And that’s exactly what he does.

“I- love you too” he stutters out awkwardly, drawing Hamilton tighter to his chest.

Helpless and desperate.

That sounds about right.

 

“You want me to what now?” James asks incredulously, planting his hands firmly on Jefferson’s desktop.

Thomas simply shrugs. After returning from his week long break in Monticello, during which he hardly left the bedroom, he’s back at work. In his low lit office in the late afternoon, with a dozen more of Hamilton love letters clogging up his desk drawer. It’s time to make good on his promise

“The man practically begged to set him up a little meeting about it.” he drawls. “I know you to don’t see eye to eye-”

“-a drastic understatement” Jemmy grunts.

“- But I figured it couldn’t hurt to humor him. Plus, he’s willing to play nice this time, he really is desperate”

James’ eyes narrow “How desperate?”

“He’s willing to forfeit the capital to the South, for starters”

“He’s seek a out a quid pro quo”

Thomas sighs, carefully picking up on of his pens and dips it into the inkwell. “I suppose.”

Jemmy sighs, folding his arms tightly over his chest. Jefferson can feel his gaze boring into him as he carefully scratches out a memo for himself.

“What did he offer you then?”

The question makes Jefferson’s pen stall, causing a huge inkblot to seep over the page.

His eyes dart up. He’s gripping his pen too tightly, it’s going to snap. “What do you mean, Jemmy?”

James is fixing him with look, nothing telling, like everyone else he doesn’t know about the bruises he hides under his cravat, or that Hamilton slips him inn room keys when then pass in the halls. He doesn’t know that Hamilton told him he loves him. The question then, is innocent enough, but Thomas still squirms in his seat.

“There’s no way you’d agree to this without getting something in return. Not when it’s Hamilton, not for this disastrous plan, and not just for the capital, I know you. So, what did you get out of the deal?”

Jefferson drops his gaze back the rapidly spreading inkblot and ponders the question. What did he get out of it? Did he really get anything out of it, or did Alexander just take, and then take some more?

He can’t say.

 


End file.
